The Chupacabra

by Jean Flitcroft

  “Oh my God!” Vanessa cried. “They’re all dead.”

  “No.” Joseph put his hand on the chest of one of the dogs. “The brute. He’s drugged them.”

  Looking closer, Vanessa was relieved to see the small rise and fall of the dogs’ chests. She looked at their black hairless skin. They were like Xolo, but there was something different about them. They were much bigger, and their heads were a strange shape. One or two had their mouths open, and Vanessa could see that their teeth and gums were deformed.

  “Why did he have so many dogs?” Vanessa asked. One of the policemen looked at her and answered in Spanish.

  Frida translated for Vanessa. “Pablo was breeding the xolos for meat. Some people around here believe it cures sickness and protects against evil.” Frida sat down on a bockety chair. “The xolo was a sacred dog for the Aztecs, and they ate the meat all the time. I was given some of it as a child.”

  Frida fell silent. Vanessa tried not to let her disgust show on her face.

  “It’s illegal now, of course,” Joseph added, “but it is still sold on the black market.” His voice was grim. “Big money. That was what Pablo was after, obviously.”

  “But why do they look like this? Their faces all deformed, their teeth such a mess?” Vanessa asked tearfully.

  “It’s probably inbreeding,” said Joseph. “If you keep breeding from within a very small group of related dogs, you get deformities.”

  “Oh, how could he do that to those poor dogs?” Vanessa was upset now. “Izel was right. He is el diablo,” she said bitterly.

  “They all seem to be alive, at least.” Armado put a reassuring hand on Vanessa’s shoulder. “My guess is that they have been drugged to keep them quiet most days. He probably exercises them at night.”

  “He exercises them at night all right …” Joseph said angrily. “On my livestock! It is these deformed creatures that have been killing our cows and goats. Look at their teeth.”

  “Well, at least all that is over now,” said Armado. “Thanks to Vanessa.”

  Joseph put an arm around her shoulder and smiled grimly. “Mystery solved. I must say it is an enormous relief.”

  Vanessa looked at Frida, who had said nothing since she’d told them about being fed dog meat as a child. She seemed to have aged ten years by simply crossing the threshold of Pablo’s horrible house. But she didn’t look upset now, or distressed, Vanessa thought; she looked distracted. Or maybe bewildered was a better description.

  CHAPTER 34

  In Mexico, naguals or blood-sucking witches are believed to experience an uncontrollable craving for blood as many as four times a month. But June, July, and August are the rainiest and coldest months, and this is when naguals are most active.

  The last couple of weeks of Nikki and Vanessa’s stay were very pleasant. The dogs had been taken away by the vet, and there was no sign of Pablo. He had stolen one of the horses and appeared to have gone for good.

  Frida and Joseph were in much better moods, and they made a huge effort to entertain the girls and to put the terrible business of the dogs behind them. They went on shopping trips to the beautiful towns of Quértaro and San Miguel de Allende and visited the famous old silver mines. Frida told them stories of how, as a kid, she used to climb down the mine shafts with her friends and then swim out by the river.

  They were beginning to see what Frida must have been like as a carefree young girl. She had even taken to riding with Armado and Vanessa on the occasional evening before dinner. Mealtimes had improved too, more chat at the table and much more laughter.

  A couple of evenings before they were due to leave, Izel made an even bigger dinner than normal—a banquet in the girls’ eyes—in honor of their departure. They were already making plans for Carmen to visit Ireland next summer, although they were still unsure if Frida would allow it.

  “Get Armado to come with you,” Vanessa suggested eagerly.

  Nikki and Carmen exchanged a knowing look, and Vanessa felt her face burning. This blushing thing was becoming an absolute nuisance. She never used to do it.

  That night as she lay on her bed, Vanessa’s mind went back to the evening that they had found the dogs. She didn’t believe that the dogs were responsible for killing the livestock, but everybody else seemed to. Everybody but Frida, perhaps. She had looked confused rather than relieved.

  She remembered the creepy feeling in Pablo’s house—damp and smelly. It had literally been a prison for those poor dogs. She thought of the sink in the kitchen that was piled high with dirty plates and wondered if they were still there. The place was a testament to a dismal and lonely life. She didn’t feel sorry for Pablo, however; it was hard to feel sorry for someone who had killed another man, a good man, a man who only wanted to help the local people and protect the family.

  Besides finding the dogs, the thing that had surprised Vanessa most about Pablo’s house had been the paintings. While there had been almost no furniture, apart from a small table and chairs, there was a series of delicate watercolors in clip frames on the walls. It was very difficult to imagine that Pablo was in any way artistic. Even if he hadn’t painted them himself, it was still a surprise to see them there.

  Vanessa finally fell into a light sleep around three o’clock in the morning, waking again about two hours later. It was still dark outside but she felt wide awake, her mind super alert and her heart thumping. He was back; she knew it. The killings would start up again.

  She got dressed, slipped quietly out of her room, and made her way along the corridor to where she thought Armado’s bedroom was. She had never been there, but she had seen him disappear into it a couple of times.

  Standing there looking at three identical doors along a wall, she froze. What if she picked the wrong one? After a few moments of indecision she knocked gently on the first one. There was no response, and she stood with her clenched fist poised to knock again. Maybe she should just go on her own. But her memory of the last time she had come face to face with Pablo in the dark was not one she could easily forget, and she found herself knocking again.

  It was Frida who opened the door, however. She did not appear in the least bit surprised to see Vanessa, though Vanessa’s toes curled with embarrassment in her flip-flops. She mouthed an apology to Frida and backed away.

  But it was as if Frida had been expecting her.

  “Let’s go, Vanessa,” she said decisively. “We’ll take the horses.”

  Vanessa didn’t ask herself why Frida was fully dressed. She just allowed herself to be led through the back door and out to the stables.

  They had saddled up their horses and were riding in the direction of the river before Frida spoke again.

  “I assume you were intending to go to Pablo’s house. How do you know that he has come back to the ranch?”

  “I don’t know how. I sometimes just follow an impulse when it comes to me. Maybe it’s not always the best thing to do, but …”

  Frida smiled. She understood.

  “I ran away with Joseph on an impulse,” she said. “But would I go back and change it—even with all that has happened? Lose Carmen and Armado? Never.”

  Frida shook her head vehemently, her long hair cascading down her shoulders. It was the first time that Vanessa had seen it out loose. She looked much younger, like a teenager, really.

  Frida rode slightly ahead. When they got near Pablo’s house, which was still in darkness, they slowed down.

  “Did you notice the paintings on the walls in Pablo’s house?” Vanessa asked. “Did he paint, do you know?”

  “They are mine. I was shocked to see them. I always thought that my father had burned them along with the rest of my belongings, but Pablo must have saved them from the bonfire.”

  Why would Pablo, of all people, want to save Frida’s paintings?

  They tied up their horses not far from the house, but out of sight, and made their way on foot. Frida didn’t knock; she walked right in and turned on the light. The room was exactl
y as before. Nothing moved, and no sign of Pablo. Vanessa examined the paintings.

  “They’re beautiful, Frida. So delicate.”

  They sat on either side of the rickety table and waited.

  A few birds began to sing as the darkness lifted slowly outside, and then finally the door groaned on its hinges. Vanessa jumped in fright and glanced quickly across at Frida. She looked calm and very poised.

  Pablo had his large curved knife already in his hand, and Vanessa kicked herself for not remembering it. What had they walked themselves into? They were sitting ducks.

  He barely glanced at Vanessa. His eyes were trained on Frida. For a split second, Vanessa saw the pleasure in his face at seeing her and understood at last: Pablo had been in love with Frida all his life. When she chose Joseph without a moment’s hesitation, his love had turned him inside out, and he’d sought revenge upon her. First he had destroyed her relationship with her parents, and now he was destroying her ranch.

  Pablo spoke intensely, the knife resting on the table between them. Vanessa could not understand a single word of it. Nahuatl, not Spanish. His voice started low and soft, pleading, but when Frida argued back he began to gesticulate, pointing to the ground where his dogs should have been. He was getting really angry, but Frida did not appear to be backing down. Oh, God, how would this end?

  Pablo grabbed the knife and stuck it into the table, making it stand on its point. Frida never flinched, but Vanessa shrank back in her chair. She could hear the blood roaring in her ears. It was her fault. Why on earth had she brought Frida there in the middle of the night?

  In fact, it was no longer night; dawn was almost upon them. Outside Vanessa heard a bark—a low, clear bark that she recognized instantly.

  “Xolo,” she gasped.

  She watched, horrified, as Pablo turned to her and his face broke into a sickening leer. His bottom teeth were blackened and many of them were missing. But it was the glimpse of a single, huge, sharp tooth in the upper row that shocked her to her core. Pablo rose to his feet, opened the door, and whistled loudly.

  Vanessa jumped to her feet too, in panic, ready to run out to Xolo. “No!” she shouted loudly. “Leave Xolo alone!”

  Frida grabbed Vanessa by the shoulders and held her close. Vanessa shook her off angrily.

  “He’s going to kill him this time. We have to stop him, please,” Vanessa begged.

  “Let him go,” Frida said quietly. “Trust me, Vanessa.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Another whistle from Pablo was followed by a bark. This time it was closer, and Vanessa shut her eyes. She couldn’t bear to think of Xolo dead, drained like the others.

  “Listen,” Frida whispered.

  Vanessa focused on the noises outside, every muscle in her body waiting in terror to hear Xolo in pain. And then she heard it, the faint hooting of an owl that grew louder, the beating of wings. Lechusa?

  She pulled away roughly from Frida, determined to stop Pablo.

  “It is Lechusa, Vanessa. The owl woman. But it is Pablo’s call she has answered. Her wings beat for him this time and not for you.” Her tone was urgent.

  Vanessa was rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with terror. Lechusa? It was only a myth, a legend … wasn’t it?

  They waited in silence until the day broke. When they went out into the dawn, there was no sign of either Pablo or Xolo.

  CHAPTER 35

  Felix Martinez Hernández, president of Colonia San Martín, said that on 14 August at around 7:00 a.m., over 36 goats were found butchered in the Colonia San Martín strip, located 11 miles south of the municipality. He said that the presence of a predator, nagual, or the Chupacabra was suspected.

  Nobody else was up yet when Vanessa slipped back into her room. She was heartbroken over Xolo. She wondered how much of the story Frida would share with the rest of the family—as little as possible, she hoped. What if her father found out? He would put her under house arrest for the rest of her life if he knew the half of it. And what about Nikki? Vanessa knew that it would be very hard for her friend to understand.

  She need not have worried. Nobody mentioned a thing all day. Their last day on the ranch passed normally—well, as normally as possible—until Xolo suddenly reappeared.

  Vanessa was ecstatic to see him. After close investigation she found a few deep scratches on his neck.

  “He must have been fighting with one of the other dogs,” Nikki remarked when she saw Vanessa cleaning the wound.

  “I will get some … what do you call it in English? Oh yes, disinfectant,” Carmen said. “We must also check the others.”

  None of the other dogs had a scratch. To Vanessa’s relief, the matter was forgotten by Nikki and Carmen in a matter of minutes.

  She wondered if Pablo was still lurking around. Or was it possible that Lechusa had really come for him? Certainly the atmosphere on the ranch had changed. Maybe the killings would be over now.

  On the last day Vanessa dressed in her travel clothes. It felt odd to be in jeans and runners after months of T-shirts and flip-flops. Joseph and Carmen were going to make the trip with them to the airport. Izel hugged them warmly and gave them each a beautifully wrapped package in a banana leaf tied with string.

  “Some of my special cherry brandy fool cake for the journey,” she said proudly. “I will send you the recipe, Vanessa. In the post. Watch out for my letter.” Frida hugged Nikki warmly and gave her a couple of beautiful Spanish storybooks. “Keep up your Spanish lessons, Nikki.” She patted her affectionately. Frida turned then and smiled at Vanessa. She placed a small canvas into her hands. Vanessa looked at it in surprise. It was similar to her own picture of Lechusa but much, much better. Instead of pencil it was done in watercolors. The feathers were extraordinarily detailed and the colors beautiful.

  “I have decided to go back to my painting properly next year, once the ranch is back on its feet,” said Frida. To Vanessa’s immense surprise, Frida leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, dropping her voice.

  Vanessa threw caution to the wind, then, and put her arms around Frida’s shoulders, hugging her hard.

  “Thank you for putting up with me. I was a terrible guest, really.”

  Frida laughed. “You must both come again.” Armado was the only one who had not come to see them off. Vanessa didn’t want to point the fact out, but she could not leave without saying good-bye to him. While she had really enjoyed the last week, swimming and sightseeing all together, riding with Armado alone had been the best.

  Vanessa stowed her bag in the boot of the car and then put her presents from Izel and Frida carefully on her seat beside her. She kept her head down, trying not to show how put out she was that Armado hadn’t made an appearance.

  “I wonder where Armado is?” she finally muttered to Nikki.

  Nikki looked surprised. “I saw him about eleven o’clock and he said good-bye to me then. Didn’t you see him?”

  Vanessa was shocked at how painful her disappointment was. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked rapidly to make them disappear, all too aware that Nikki was staring at her miserably.

  The car pulled out onto the driveway, and they made their way slowly down the avenue for the last time. Vanessa and Nikki waved to Izel and Frida through the back window. It seemed more like four months than four weeks since they had arrived.

  They approached the huge metal arch that stood on its own, marking the entrance to the property. Vanessa looked at it with a heavy heart. It had seemed so odd to her when they first arrived, but now it was entirely normal. She would miss Mexico.

  Out of nowhere the sound of hooves thundered. Vanessa was the first to spot Armado.

  Joseph pulled up and waited patiently while Vanessa got out to say good-bye to him. Nikki had already said good-bye, so she just waved from the back seat.

  “Promise to come with Carmen to Dublin next year,” Nikki called out through the open door.

  Vanessa stood with her back to the c
ar, unsure what to do or say now that the moment had come. She put out her hand to shake his, but when he caught it he turned the palm upwards and brought it to his lips. It was the gentlest of sensations, yet it quite literally took her breath away. Vanessa said nothing in the end, just turned and got back into the car. Her face said it all.

  As they drove back toward Mexico City, a tremendous rainstorm hit them at about midday. Big fat drops sounded on the car roof. When they stopped at a gas station, Vanessa and Nikki bought Cokes and stood in the rain. They clinked their bottles in a toast to the Martinez ranch, delighted at the thought of the water stores filling up at last.

  CHAPTER 36

  Science has so far failed to explain the physical evidence that has been found—puncture wounds, draining of blood, sometimes dozens of animals dead in a single night. Pathologists at the National University of Nicaragua studied the corpse of a dog-like creature that locals claimed to be a Chupacabra. After many tests and much delay, they finally reported that they could not identify the species.

  Izel’s letter with the recipe arrived in Dublin not long after they arrived home. To Vanessa’s surprise, a newspaper clipping also fell out of the envelope. She unfolded it and read:

  Strange Happenings on

  Rancho Del Diablo

  There has been a series of livestock killings on the Martinez ranch in the region of Guanajuato. Some locals have claimed it to be the work of the Chupacabra, but now the mystery has been solved by the police. The deaths of chickens, goats and cows are understood to be the work of a pack of dogs which were being bred illegally on the ranch. The famous xolo meat was being sold on the black market.

  Vanessa shook her head vehemently. Dogs, nonsense! Then she read on:

  The man who was responsible for the breeding of the dogs, and thus indirectly the killings, was ranch hand Pablo Sanchez.

  In a bizarre turn of events, he himself was found drowned when the river near his house burst its banks after heavy rains. The police are treating his death as accidental. His is the third death in the region due to the heavy floods in recent days. No foul play or mysterious creatures are suspected by the police, but the local man who found Señor Sanchez’s body says that an extraordinary giant tooth was found in the dead man’s pocket.